Must Have Been The Moonlight (16 page)

His gaze lifted. “‘It was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.’”

Brianna regarded him in open admiration. He shared the same passion for romantic prose. She sat in the chair. “You read.”

“Indeed.” A smile curved his lips. “Actually I read quite well.”

“I mean—” She cleared her throat. “You know the book.”

“My tutor was a literary connoisseur of Charles Dickens. I had the pleasure of hearing him read once.” He opened the book and saw her name emblazoned on the cover. “Why did you bring this here?”

“That book was part of the effects that were with me on the caravan.” Her hands folded and tightened in her lap. Streamers of light seeped through the tightly cinched blinds behind him and heated the room. “It was part of my possessions that I had in my trunk when the caravan was attacked.
I found the book yesterday at the mission among other books that were donated. Surely whoever donated it would have seen my name inside. Can you trace where it might have come from?” she asked.

Michael shut the cover. His eyes had grown darker. “Usually stolen merchandise has been taken in trade many times over before it finally comes to our attention. Who brought you here today?”

“Christopher’s driver. I’m in the brougham.” A smile flirted at the corners of her mouth. “I should feel safe with the two men that you have following me at all times. For purely professional reasons. Not at all because you might care about me.”

He walked to the front of the desk, where he crossed his arms. His uniform pulled at his shoulders. “Is there anything else, Brianna?”

She stood, her skirts whispering with the movement. “Why haven’t you contacted me?”

He didn’t answer.

She dropped her gaze to her hands as they traced a gouge on the desk. She stood so close to him that she could smell the sandalwood used to scent his soap. “I think that if you quit now you’re missing out on a great opportunity to get to know me, Major.”

Glancing into his face, Brianna hadn’t realized that tears had welled, and by then it was too late to look away. He’d restructured the boundary between them—widened it with a buffer zone the size of Great Britain. But she felt his respect for her and knew that it wouldn’t take the skill of a civil engineer to build a bridge over the gaping chasm that had somehow opened between them. She wanted to be with him enough not to throw everything away on a tantrum.

“Heaven forbid that I ever learn how to whine prettily, so that you might want to offer me your handkerchief.”

He dabbed both of her cheeks with his sleeve. “One whiff of my handkerchief, I promise, and you would be cured of whining.”

Laughing at his response, she picked a piece of lint out of her mouth. “I didn’t come here today to weep.” She cast him a sidelong glance. Traffic from outside intruded.

He leaned to look down at the noisy basket on the floor. “Are you planning, then, to invite me to lunch? Though I would impugn your dubious choice of fare.”

His rejoinder drew a modicum of relief. “I thought perhaps you might take this basket to Yasmeen and the children.” She set the basket beside him with some uncertainty, worried that he’d say no. “The alleys around the museum seemed to be filled with homeless creatures.”

Michael leaned back on his palms. Then he shocked her by laughing. She took note of the warmth in his eyes.

“Do you think to find homes for all the strays in Cairo?” he asked.

“It’s not right that any living creature should be abandoned.”

When Michael didn’t reply, Brianna turned her attention to the buttons on his uniform. “Have I told you how nice you look in scarlet?”

“Are you a woman who yearns for a man in uniform?”

“I quite liked you out of uniform, Major. Would you like to know which version of you I prefer?” She looked him in the eyes.

His gaze drifted over her with lazy thoroughness.

Where it touched, she felt only a sweet fever, a raw surge of desire. Then he smiled ruefully and sinfully. Brianna realized that his hands were on her arms, and he pulled her between his legs, trapping her from breast to hips, the illicit memory of their previous mating hot between them.

“I suppose I’ve kept you too long.” Her heart beat faster.

“Perish the thought.”

Light color rose in her cheeks. Looking into her face Michael discovered the duplicity inside him, for he wanted her. It shone in his eyes and strained against his trousers as he held her intimately against him.

In a languorous upward arc, she entwined her arms
around his neck, and kissed him. His open lips parted from hers, but she drew him back with her hands in his hair, and heaven help him he found satisfaction in her arms.

He’d never quite tasted lips like hers, and grappling with the reality that he was quickly losing control, he took her kiss, opened her lips and let her tongue inside. He caught it. Sucked on it. And drank in her gasp of surprise. “Have you always been this bold?” he said against her lips, absorbing the luxury of unbridled sensation of her hands on him.

“I like the way you taste.”

She captivated him. Her scent. The press of her body against his. “You like control.”

“I like feeling alive.” She leaned on her toes to kiss him again. “You make me feel that way. That can be the only explanation for thinking of you constantly. I’m dizzy with the desire to go sailing again.”

The adeptness that had helped lead him in the past had deserted him. He kissed her parted lips, and there his tongue ravished hers with a tender savagery that had tightened his hand around her nape to deepen his possession.

She groaned when his hand slid up her thigh and touched her intimately. He smiled at her response, the splendor of that sound beating through his senses. Pulling her against the length of him, he noted in some remote part of his mind that all the control was back in his hands. “Do you need me then?” he managed with little inflection in his voice, his hand absorbing the heat of her through her drawers, and he knew that she must feel the restraint in his touch.

“I must,” she said. “I do need you. But I dislike being manipulated,” she managed breathlessly.

“But you like my touch.” He smiled into her heated eyes, feeling as though a little of heaven had opened before him. He could make her come in his arms, he thought.

Her lashes lifted, revealing deep pools of blue. His eyes stared into hers. Then his gaze lifted to the transom, and he put her from him. “This is not a good place to do what I want to do with you at the moment.”

“Will you let me know about the book?”

Michael moved to open the door. He had a full schedule of meetings today, and he was about to cancel them all for her. “I’ll do what I can.”

Her hand hesitating on the latch, she leaned on the door. “I want to go sailing again, soon.” Lips curving into a warm grin, she took the sunlight with her when she shut the door.

After she left, Michael stared at the empty walls and the two dead plants that had practically shriveled to dust in his care—and felt something reckless stab at his chest. A muscle in his jaw flexed as he shook his head, and his gaze went to the kittens.

She was a vixen, he thought, who knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“Do you need anything, effendi?” His secretary peered around the door into the room. It irked Michael that the man continued to tiptoe around him like a deranged rabbit.

“Cancel my appointments.”

Michael walked behind the desk and flipped up the blinds with one finger to look down on the street. Brianna sat in the brougham. The weight of her hair was smoothly netted at her nape, and as the sunlight painted the horizon gold and dappled the ground with light and shadow, she took that moment to look up. He let his eyes go over her with a possessiveness that showed pleasantly enough in his gaze—when all he wanted at that moment was to take her back to the
dahabeeyah
and continue what they’d started.

She was fearless.

A splash of vivid color in his unvivid brown life.

And he was intrigued by the poetic vision of a woman who gave him a perpetual erection. Until this morning, he’d not realized that he had done a poor job of keeping Miss Brianna Donally out of his head.

“When Halid arrives, tell him that I’ve gone to the Old Quarter.” Watching as Brianna disappeared past the curve in the street, he shifted his gaze across the park, to where his men pulled out onto the street.

Michael finally turned back into the room. He didn’t believe that Brianna’s book showing up at the mission was some cosmic coincidence. “I’ll be out of the office for a few days.”

“Y
ou’re not interested in reading the rest of the papers?”

With a quiet oath, Michael dropped the packet on the desk. “I’ve read enough,” he said, turning his back to the room, hands on hips. He looked out over the parkway in front of the ministry.

Unshaved and smelling of grit and sweat, he still wore his white turban and a belted long-sleeve tunic that reached his knees. His leather boots encased his calves. He’d arrived back at the ministry office less than an hour ago, barely had time to shake hands with the man ho had come all the way from England to find him before dropping his knapsack on the desk and reading the packet. Whatever he’d expected to hear from his family one day, it wasn’t this.

Never this.

His jaw flexed with angry tension. “Who else knows about this?”

“Once I arrived in Cairo, I went directly to the consul general to find you. I came by your office last week. It has taken me this long to catch up to you. Obviously you don’t read your correspondence.”

The man’s identity answered the question of his anonymous visitor last week. Lord Chamberlain had been his father’s personal secretary. Michael also remembered tearing up Caroline’s letter.

In the total stillness surrounding him, the blood hummed against his eardrums with an emotional force that grabbed hold of his chest and wouldn’t let go. “What happened to my brother?”

“He was thrown from his horse. A rib punctured a lung. Edward lived for almost a month before he succumbed to pneumonia. The stallion should never have been ridden. But your brother never let that stop him. He was a lot like you…in that respect.”

Michael turned back into the room. At first he’d been temporarily shell-shocked by the news Chamberlain had given him, but the numbness was quickly fading. “Edward has been dead for
eight
months. It didn’t take that long to locate me. Why wasn’t I told this sooner?”

“Lady Caroline was expecting.”

“I see.” His scoff held the hint of something far worse than disgust. He squinted down at the crowded street without seeing anything at all. “And my mother chose not to inform me until after Caroline gave birth. How it must have galled her to contact me at all. So, Caroline did not produce the needed heir to the Ravenspur dynasty.”

“The lineage of succession passed to you three months ago. Your grandmother is the one who has finally summoned you home. You are the sole beneficiary to the Duke of Ravenspur, the Marquis of Farrington, and all the Aldbury family holdings, your Grace.”

Your Grace
. The title was as foreign to him—to his way of life—as the desert was to the ocean, and too many emotions collided for him to make sense of anything.

He only knew that he couldn’t leave Cairo.

Michael curbed his anger. “I’m surprised the Dowager Lady Anne hasn’t sent the royal marines to drag me back.”

“I imagine that will be her next step if you do not return.
She wants an heir, your Grace. And fully expects you will marry someone of standing and fulfill your obligation upon your return.”

Michael lifted his gaze and, as if for the first time, his eyes went over the ingratiating bureaucrat wearing the colonial white suit. The man he’d once revered as much as his own self-absorbed father. Sons of the family of Viscount Carlisle had held the rank of Principle Private Secretary to the Aldbury family for a century. His round face was ruddy, no doubt from good living. His once stock gray hair had turned white. Sideburns cupped his jowls where he wiped a handkerchief across his mouth. The last time Michael had seen Lord Chamberlain had been the day his father had given him his walking orders and disinherited him. His father had died shortly afterward.

“How are Caroline and her two daughters?”

“The infant is healthy. They are all living at Aldbury.”

And for the first time in years, Michael’s memories took him to the scented clover fields of home. How long had it been since he’d seen Caroline?

Twelve years?

“What is past is past, your Grace.”

Was it?

Michael sank into his chair behind the desk, the enormity of the situation now taking hold. Enough light filtered through the venetian blinds to reveal the wine-colored dispatch boxes awaiting his attention. Paperwork loomed everywhere. His gaze fell on Brianna’s book—and as foreign as his emotions were, the thought of her only added further chaos to his current state of being.

He turned the book over in his hands.

“Despite everything, I still have a responsibility to discharge here,” he told Chamberlain. “I’m not prepared at the moment to leave.”

“As I understand, your replacement will be here before the end of the month, your Grace. In less than two weeks, to be exact.”

“Indeed”—Michael crossed his hands at the wrist, a slow burn taking root in his gut—“you’ve heard that? Before I’ve met with the khedive? From whom?”

Chamberlain’s ears grew red. “The secretary to the consul general told me, your Grace. It was only a friendly bout of conversation.”

“Just a bit of state business to pass away the time over tea?” His gaze suddenly went to the file cabinet across the room, certain now that he’d overlooked an important lead. He’d not thought about interviewing employees at the consulate for a possible leak. There shouldn’t have been a free exchange of information from this office to the consulate.

But maybe there was.

“Which secretary?”

“The consul general’s personal secretary, your Grace.” Realizing his error, Chamberlain mopped his brow. “I don’t normally discuss business with strangers. But I’m not unfamiliar with the chap. His father knew mine. We both attended Eton.”

“Does the dowager have anything to do with my recall?”

“It doesn’t matter, your Grace. The dowager duchess has enough connections at Whitehall that should you prove stubborn…”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “She has erred in her assumption that I even want the title.”

“That is no longer your choice, your Grace. The matter is done.”

“Go back to England, Chamberlain.” Michael stood and personally invited the man out.

“Of what shall I inform her grace of your return?”

Michael opened the door. Did he honestly want that answer? “She’ll know that I’ve returned when she sees me at Aldbury Park.”

“You can’t stay here forever, your Grace.” Chamberlain stopped at the door. “Eventually you’ll have to face them all again.”

Michael shut the door and closed his eyes. “Bloody, blaz
ing hell,” he said to the walls and to anyone else who cared to listen.

“You are perhaps missing your Major Fallon?” The dark mellifluous voice at Brianna’s back startled her.

Standing beneath a weeping mimosa overlooking the consulate grounds, she turned, her white skirts rasping with her movement. Sheikh Omar stood behind her. The sun had set against the trees behind him. “We have not been formally introduced, Miss Donally.” He bowed over her hand.

Brianna’s fingers closed into her palm as she watched his lips touch her flesh. Disgust welled inside her. He raised his gaze to look at her.

Taller by mere inches, the sheikh wore a black brocade coat
stambouli
. His fez perched slightly sideways on his head, his black beard harmonizing the decorations on his chest. His two bodyguards were not far behind. She had no idea whether hers were anywhere near since she was with Christopher and Alex tonight at the consulate.

“Excellency.” She hid her reaction in a curtsy. Her hair was pulled up, and she was suddenly conscious of her bare shoulders.

“You are very beautiful in the moonlight, Miss Donally.” He smiled, and all she could think about was what he’d done to Colonel Baker.

Gesturing with his beringed hand, he indicated the gaily dressed people milling on the grounds. “They laugh and talk, and you stand over here looking somber. Did you not enjoy the concert performance?”

“I appreciate Rossini and Verdi.”

“Cairo has an opera house. My cousin has created a splendid European capital, has he not?” He clasped his hands behind him and observed her curiously. “Yet, you spend much of your time in the Old Quarter with your camera.”

How would he know that about her?

He crooked his arm. “You will walk with me?”

“I’m sorry.” She looked around him through the trees,
wishing now that she’d not walked so far, or drank so much champagne. “I’m waiting for my brother,” she lied. “He told me he would be out in a moment.”

“Ah, then he will not mind if you walk with me.” He inclined his head. “We are of the same mind, your brother and I, on matters of diplomacy.”

A fog had begun to settle over the grounds. Distant roofs and domes, minarets and spires, swam in the misty light of nightfall. Earlier, she’d set her glass of champagne on the passing tray of a servant and hurried down the stairs of the consulate into the early evening air. She looked past the sheikh.

“Shall we, Miss Donally?” He extended his arm.

Not wishing to commit some diplomatic blunder, Brianna placed a palm atop his sleeve and they strolled along the garden path toward the small lake.

“Is it common in your country that a woman of your class and beauty prefers to labor over menial tasks rather than marry?”

Brianna turned her head to look at him. “There are many who find life outside marriage rewarding.”

“And you are one?”

“Yes.”

“When I was in England some years ago, I sat for my portrait. It was a long time ago. While my cousin studied in Paris, I studied at your Oxford University. I met an English girl. Her eyes were like the finest amber.”

They walked along the path that overlooked the lake. “I have occasioned to visit London a few times since. But I fear I am unable to get used to your cold. Or your British propensity for overdressing for every occasion. Do you agree?”

“There is certain magic found in wearing eastern garments.”

“And now my country is filled with Europeans who also do not like the cold but still have a disposition for overdressing.” He laughed. “The inclination for foreigners to congregate here has made Cairo into a little Europe, with its own
Season from November to March. Still, some choose to live outside the circle. Your brother for one.” He seemed to observe her closely. “Major Fallon for another.”

She became guarded. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Do you not? Usually men such as he takes his mistresses from the general population. Fallon has not been as prudent as he should with you.”

Brianna was conscious of an unexpected flood of color. That Omar knew so much about her life violated her to the core. Before she could grasp his intention, he placed his palm over her hand to keep her from pulling away. “I have known Fallon for some time.” He continued strolling. “I make it a practice to study my enemies, Miss Donally. Especially their weaknesses.”

She was suddenly frightened. His hand on hers kept her from leaving.

She could fight him. But what would she say to anyone who saw her? They were still on open ground. “What do you want?”

“We shall finish our promenade around the gardens. It would be unseemly for anyone to think that you and I are engaged in anything but the most pleasant of talk. Is that not correct?”

There was the hint of steel in his voice. Her gaze fell on his sapphire ring because she didn’t know where else to look.

“The gem is the color of your eyes,” he said, noting her gaze. “I will have it made into a necklace for you. Would you like that?”

Brianna withdrew her hand. Diplomatic faux pas or not, she was finished with the walk. “Get away from me.”

Stepping in front of her, Omar brought her up short. “I find it provocative that you are not veiled.” The sheikh’s pithy gaze settled on her décolletage, and it took every ounce of her nerve not to cover herself with her hand. “What is it men of your country say?” He waved his other hand casually. “You would make a good fuck.”

She tried to step around him, but this time he grabbed her wrist, swinging her around to face him.

“When Fallon leaves, perhaps I will take you for myself.”

Brianna yanked away from him. Omar made her feel worse than garbage. But it was a degradation she’d have to keep to herself. She would not allow this man to use her to hurt the people who were important to her. “Go to the devil.”

“You can relay that sentiment to Major Fallon, Miss Donally,” he called after her, his laughter like a knife in her heart. “He is here.”

“I have to ask you again, Excellency.” Michael stood with his back to the window, his shoulders tense, an indelible ferocity turning over his stomach. “Did Pritchards make reports to this consulate concerning activities at my office? Does Donally report to you?”

“This consulate is not responsible for leaks that more than likely came from your office alone, Major Fallon.”

Like hell he was going to let someone charge him for dereliction of duty. “Did Pritchards or Donally report to this consulate?”

Veresy dropped into the wide leather chair behind his desk, the groan of castings muffled by the carpet. Michael could hear the orchestra warming up as strands of Mozart drifted up from the floor below.